The word "maxi" doesn't really translate perfectly. It refers to something big, as in, bigger than normal. I guess you should say huge, or mega - maybe mega. Mega Dad. Honestly, France? I'm not going to bother bitching about this one, but I will, however, bitch about how now I'm going to forever associate sanitary pads with Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. (Sidenote: who else thinks it was an awful idea to try to add The Rock's real name back into the mix? Good, I'm glad we agree.)
So, I went to the library today (BPI or Pompidou, as we incorrectly call it). I got up, I was in a good mood - I was going to the library and was going to be productive and a good student and redeem myself! I went to go catch the bus, and when I got on the bus, my good spirits quickly faded, as the driver was apparently drunk or spastic or some other adjective that explains his shitty driving. And there was traffic. I was already running a little late - if you don't get to the library before it opens, you could wait in line for literally an hour before you get in. That is, if you get in. Pompidou opens at 12 on weekdays. Yeah, don't even get me started on the library's crap hours. Anyways, I was originally planning on getting there around 11:30, but that obviously didn't happen. At around 12:05, I rounded the corner of the building to find a line already a block long. It's ok, I said to myself, I'm just going to put on my ipod and wait. All will be well. No reason to get upset. And it was fine, except for all the smoke emanating from my future cancer-patient-peers. Half an hour later (see what I mean?), I got into Pompidou and made a B-line for my books, and then I sat down at an empty table and tried to take advantage of the emptiness and quiet to get some serious work done. Gradually people filed in, and soon there wasn't a free seat in the house. I think about half an hour after I sat down, a guy sat down on my left, and I didn't really notice it at first, but he had one little book and a half-used pad of graph paper out holding the book open, but no pen. Or briefcase or bag or backpack. And then I noticed out of the corner of my eye what looked like his hand down his pants, making repetitive motions. Are you fucking kidding me? You know, I've been reading about all the public masturbation going on in the States, because Perez Hilton is pretty obsessed with it, but I mean, COME ON. Ok, bad choice of words. And he just sat there, for about two hours, taking his hand in and out of his pants, glaring at me occasionally, getting up two or three times to do God knows what God knows where, and then he just left. He never turned the page of his book or took any notes, and of course I was too weirded out to actually look at him - oh, and there's that whole making eye contact with a strange man equals making a sexual invite thing. And judging by the current circumstances, I didn't think I needed to throw gas on the fire.
I took a lunch break around 4, stuffing down a sandwich and some tomato-basil chips. Now, I know what you're thinking, and I used to think it too. Tomato-basil? CHIPS? I used to scoff and make weird faces at the concept, but actually, they are not that bad. Not that bad at all. Actually, I was thinking about stopping on the way home to get some, but then my senses thought better of it. After a quick trip to the bathroom, where you have to take the toilet paper before you go into the stall (still can't figure that one out), I continued my work next to the recently-seated normal guy doing calculus problems. I thought I was very productive. I worked the entire time, didn't procrastinate, never even sent a single text message. And somehow I only managed to read forty pages. What? Forty pages? Five hours of work and only forty pages? How is that possible? I did get information, but I'm not sure it's enough to finish the work I have for tomorrow and that mini presentation we have to give on Monday. Ah well. It's not like this'll be the first time I'll have had to bullshit my way through something.
On my way home I picked up some bread from my favorite boulangerie in my neighborhood. It'd been a while since I'd gone there since I rarely come home that way anymore, and I was starting to forget how good that bread is, especially when you get it fresh from the oven and melt some butter on it. Mmmm, heaven. It was warm today, not hot enough to melt the butter, but warm enough. It was a nice end to a very awkward day.
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